


Musings After Midnight

by mogwai_do



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e22 One Minute to Midnight, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan's thoughts in the aftermath of Jakob's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musings After Midnight

He's reading now, perfectly pale and composed in the light from the reading lamp. His flight leaves in a couple of hours; I don't know where he's going and I don't think it would do any good to ask. His fingers are skimming the page as he reads, but it's only when I pass close enough to see the absence of ink on the page that I realise there's a reason for it - he's reading Braille. Somehow it doesn't surprise me, not really. His fingertips are sensitive, I learned that this evening as I sucked and nipped at them. They read my body as easily as they read the sequence of raised dots on the page. As easily as they pulled the trigger and ended a mortal life tonight; he wore as much expression then as he does now. He ended a mortal life, but saved mine.

I was so burned out from Jakob's Quickening I hadn't even registered the Watcher until I'd felt the bullet in my back. One of Shapiro's more rabid supporters, a leftover from Horton's reign perhaps; it didn't matter. I was on my knees, waiting for the blade to fall when I heard the soft sound of a silenced shot and the heavy thud of my would-be assassin's body hitting the ground. And then there he was, stepping from shadows that clung to him as if he belonged to them, or maybe it was only my own fanciful thoughts in the aftermath of the lightning. But he was solid, in more than just the literal sense. He took me home, cleaned me up and sat me down until I could think for myself again. Then he took me to bed and let me fuck him until Jakob's spirit finally gave up its murderous pull, sweated out of my system in the best possible way.

We've barely spoken since then and I'm not sure what to make of my friend now. It was just sex, simple release, when we started, but now it's over I'm sure that there was more to it than that, on my part at least. I can't read him anymore; his actions speak of care, but... this quiet withdrawal is not what I expected. I'm staring at him as though I can read his thoughts and feelings in the angles of his face, the position of his body, if only I try hard enough. He knows I'm watching him I'm sure, but he's made no comment, given me no indication, and I don't know what to make of that either. He's as expressionless as when he pulled the trigger and killed that Watcher, seemingly emotionless though I know he isn't - he just hides it far better than I think I would ever even want to. I wonder if he looked like that when he and Joe made that deal with the devil and set Jakob up. I don't know. All I know for sure is that he'll be leaving soon and for all that's happened tonight, I feel I know even less about him than I did before. I've been inside his body, but I can't get inside his mind.

Not all that long ago I wondered if I should be more wary of him, even though he's done nothing but help me. Now I'm certain I should be, but I still can't bring myself to follow through with that idea and I don't know why. He's an Immortal like me; we are killers by necessity, but I've never really seen that in him until tonight and even then... Even now... I tried to explain to Joe once what it was like to live for 400 years; Amanda has tried to explain to me what it's like to live a thousand. I don't know of anyone who might have the slightest concept of what it's like to be Methos - oldest of us all. I wish I did, it might give me some insight into his actions, what he wants, what he sees when he looks at me the way he's looking right now.

It can't be time to go yet, it doesn't take that long to get to Charles de Gaulle. He is leaving though, he's collecting his things and I can't think of a single thing to say that will stop him, if I have the right to even try. He's made no mention of when he plans to return, maybe he doesn't, but I think he will... I... I hope he will. Suddenly all I know is that if he asked me to go with him right now, I'd go. It's an unsettling thought and I'm only glad he doesn't ask me and prove to us both just how strongly I feel it.

Maybe it's for the best that we go our separate ways for the time being. I feel a lot better than I did, but I have enough self-awareness to know that I should not be wading out into such muddy emotional waters right now, not with the echoes of Jakob's Quickening giving me such intimate insight into the possibilities of Immortal love. How can I say with any certainty what I feel about my friend when I'm so uncertain of who that man actually is? Logically I can't, but part of me isn't very logical at all and the strength of it scares me.

He's heading for the door now and I accompany him, terribly aware of the shape and feel of the body so carefully hidden beneath so many concealing layers. He turns to me and I still can't read his expression, but it feels like everything I have thought and felt is written across my face for him to see. I pat him on the shoulder, sternly cautioning my hand not to linger at his warmth, and I wish him well on his trip. It sounds stupid and too formal for the friends we are, but I dare not say anything else for fear of what it might be. And, oh God, he's smiling - warm and genuine and I'm struck dumb. Then he leans forward and presses the lightest of kisses to my lips and I feel such a pang of tender arousal I'm stunned, the strength of my feelings blindsiding me.

But by the time I've recovered my scattered wits he's already gone, his Presence fading rapidly to nothing and his easy farewell dying in the echoes. My tongue flickers out entirely of its own volition to taste him on my lips - a lingering hint of coffee and something else newly familiar to me. He'll be back, I'm certain of it now. Sooner or later he'll reappear in my life as easily as if he'd never been gone. Maybe by then I'll know what questions to ask him, to find out who this man is that my heart seems to have set itself on. Part of me insists that I already know everything about him that I need to and maybe I do, but I'm curious about the rest of it. I _want_ to know more, but until he returns I have no more than a few educated guesses and fuel for the fantasies I know I will have.

I lie down on sheets that still smell faintly of him and close my eyes. Despite all the things that have happened today and the inevitable fallout that I must face tomorrow in the cold light of day, I know that my dreams tonight will be good ones.

 

FIN


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